Page 54 of Tru Blue
She swallowed hard, mustering the courage to start at the beginning. “I’ve told you about how all I ever wanted was time from my parents, not material things. But it wasn’t just their time and attention that I missed out on. I’m not sure they were capable of really loving anyone.”
His fingers brushed soothingly through her hair and along her back. She closed her eyes, reveling in his ability to know exactly what she needed.
“You know about my constant nannies and ridiculously strict schedule, but when you love someone, truly love them, the way you love Kennedy and Lincoln, and the way I can see you love Quincy, regardless of his current situation, you don’t turn your back on them.” Her throat clogged with the sadness and anger she’d thought she’d dealt with years ago.
He lifted her higher, cradling her against him, and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. She focused on the ink on his chest, reminding herself that her loss was nothing compared to his.
With a gentle finger beneath her chin, he brought her eyes up again. His thumb brushed over her cheek in silent support. It was that support that gave her the courage to continue speaking.
“When I was eight, my father’s investment company went south. I was just a kid, so the things I noticed weren’t necessarily telling, but I knew something was wrong. He was angry all the time. Nervous. My father was never nervous. He didn’t do weakness. He used to tell me that weakness bred incompetence. It was such a big word, and I’m sure I didn’t understand what it really meant, but I intimated, you know, like kids do. Then things started happening. He had a fleet of cars, and it dwindled. My mother was always cold, but she became colder, angrier, until they barely spoke even to each other. And one day one of my nannies came to get me at school and I’ll never forget that day. I had so many nannies, and they changed from day to day sometimes, but that time they’d sent Ben. Ben was nicer than the others. Not warm, but if he saw I was sad, he’d sometimes touch my chin and say, ‘Chin up, little lady. The sun’s still shining.’”
Truman listened intently; his blue eyes welled with empathy.
“Ben was big, like you. He wore a black suit. They always wore black, the men and women who worked for my father, because of his crazy need for professionalism. ‘Look strong, be strong.’ I started to hate the word ‘strong,’ and I fought against wearing anything black, even shoes. I was a bit of a brat about it.” Old anger brewed in her belly. “My father cared about what his staff wore, but he couldn’t give me a fucking Eskimo kiss?”
Tears slid down her cheeks. She couldn’t stop them if she wanted to. She was too deep in the memory, reliving it as if it were yesterday.
“I’ll never forget Ben folding his big body down and kneeling beside me. He took both of my hands in his, and I knew something was wrong because none of the staff touched me like that.” She spread her hand over Truman’s ribs, remembering the feel of Ben’s hands around hers.
“He held…” She sniffed back tears, forcing the words to come. “He held my hands and looked right into my eyes with this apologetic but also stern look, and he said, ‘Your father has died. It’s time to go home, little lady.’ Like I needed to suck it up. As if that was something any little girl should ever have to hear.”
Truman crushed her to him. “Sweetheart. I’m so sorry.”
Her chest constricted, and her fingers dug into his skin. “My father, the man who preached strength, was too weak to face bankruptcy. So he chose to leave us. He chose to ignore the fact that I didn’t care about his wealth or what we had. All I wanted was him. I wanted a father.” Her last words were swallowed in sobs. She cried like she never had in all the years since her father’s death, ridding her body of a river of anger, an ocean of pain and disappointment, until she had no more tears to cry. And Truman held her, safe and tight, murmuring support laced in love. He didn’t have to say he loved her. She knew it, could feel it in his every breath.
Only then did she swallow her pain and tell him the rest of her truth.
“At a time when my mother and I should have been pulling together to support each other and trying to figure out how to move forward together, she set out to find her next sugar daddy. Instead of helping her grieving daughter, my mother disappeared. I saw even less of her. My nannies had dwindled down to two, and I was under their care every minute of the day. I ate with one of them standing beside the table like I was a prisoner—no offense—and I woke up to my clothes laid out for me and my mother God only knew where. She married five months after my father died. My new stepfather traveled a lot—and she went with him.”
